Review of that one where the four girls all have problems and then they get solved and they live in this big place

Someone said it was kind of like
candy that had been sitting in a bathroom tub for six years. That doesn’t make sense. I pictured it more as a pack of twizzlers
sitting on the dashboard, stewing, aging, baking like leather hides while the
rest of the family is off enjoying themselves at the beach. Or maybe it was like the older brother who
had the kind of dirty magazines that sometimes showed sex and boobs, but mostly
were articles that you and your friends didn’t read because you were thirteen
and only cared about seeing something that seemed forbidden and you did this
for a couple of years until all of a sudden one day you and your friends went
to look at them and all the good parts had been censored out because the older
brother had sold the rights to a cable television station.

But I thought about it as candy
again and all these ants dressed up like they were on their way to New York for
the first time crawled into my head or maybe it was just a bunch of aunts
depressed because they weren’t going to New York anymore. I can’t tell. If it was the depressed aunts, not the dressed ants, then they probably
just ended up lounging in front of the television dressed as they were still
going to New York re-watching old episodes they’ve seen already. Of course, they’re eating right out of the
container of sweat pants. I meant ice
cream. The sweat pants don’t go on until
later. Sometime after season two is
complete and they’ve stained their dress because they dropped the spoonful of
Chunky Monkey while transitioning from crying to laughing, laughing to crying.

And did I mention these depressed
aunts are single? It only makes
sense. They’d do well to get themselves
a bobblehead doll or some gizmo that never disagrees and is always there for them. They’ll probably pick up a cute little dog
that can fit in their purse and who will hump the little throw pillows on the
bed and most importantly not chew up their very best fuck-me shoes. And though I use the expression I am not
quite sure if I understand the fuck-me shoe. I only know that you can’t run more than a
quarter of a block in them, which seems more than enough to flag down a cab.

I smell popcorn. The twizzlers are roasting on the dashboard. They’re overdone. They’ve dried right up and popped. Just in time for the marriage. Pray that nothing goes wrong or else you’re
on the couch with the depressed aunts for all of eternity. All your friends are there for the
celebration and you’re like, “Do I look like a dried kernel of popcorn you
would find wedge into a movie seat from three days ago?”

Your friends, those bitches, lie
right to your face and say you look beautiful and never tell you that your eyes
are too close together because that would be kind of mean seeing that it’s not
something you can control. But of course
it is true and it is pretty noticeable on screen when your head is fifty feet
tall and there is still only six inches separating one eye from the other. At least you don’t look as much like the
dried popcorn kernel you originally thought. Makeup helps. It adds depth to
your character. You look like a popcorn
kernel dunked in cake frosting which kind of gives you that Amazon goddess vibe. Actually, I’m joking. There is nothing Amazonian about you. You’re just some old white hag, but you were
going for something exotic and thus failed. The bird in your hair didn’t help.

Like I said though, none of your
friends told you any of this. The
depressed aunts might have been able to before they got sucked in, but now it’s
nothing but laughing and crying/crying and laughing. Little squirrels are in the walls, but no one
notices. A nuclear cloud forms on an
adopted child’s head, but no one notices. She’s just there to say cute funny things when the director points at
her. The chatter picks up and all your
friends won’t shut up and neither will you and its all, “Love me, color on my
vagina, your vagina needs waxing, I’d trade my left vagina for a Louis Vuitton,
I think the expression is left nut, I don’t have nuts, I’m pregnant, blah,
blah, blah, I shit myself, shoes, shoes, shoes, dicks, dicks…oh he’s gay, quit
humping the pillow, haha, my neighbor has a dick.”

Then it ended. The popcorn kernel and all her friends were
married I guess. And the curtain fell
and all the depressed aunts went wild and cheered and wiped away their tears.